We were riding in the car, and Emma Grace asked me to pass the magazine back to her. It was a business magazine, but it had an image on the cover that intrigued her.
“It’s an angel and a devil, Mommy,” she said to me.
I could understand the angel part. In fact, I had thought the same thing. The cover bore the blurred image of a man, standing with his back to the camera, white wings on his back.
“Why do you say it’s a devil?” I asked.
“Because,” she said. “He’s wearing red pants.”
Sure enough.
“Or maybe,” she said, “it’s supposed to be heaven and hell.”
Wow, I thought. She’s five years old and she’s already identifying allegory.
“Or I should say,” she corrected herself, “heaven and h-e-l-l.”
Bill and I looked at each other.
“You can spell that?” I asked her.
“Yes,” she said. “I can only spell two things: my name, and h-e-l-l.”
I guess you’ve got to start somewhere.
***
Everett is doing So Well in school, I am grateful to say. He’s mastering his math concepts, comes home with daily news about the Revolutionary War, spells with ease, and is already more than halfway through Harry Potter and the Sorceror’s Stone.
But he Hates writing. He has pretty terrible handwriting, and the task, for him, is tedious at best. He finds it vexing, he finds it bothersome, he avoids it Whenever Possible.
This week one of his spelling assignments was to write three sentences and use at least three spelling words in them. Not three spelling words per sentence; that were Too Much. Just one word (at least) per sentence.
This week’s list worked on the tricky spellings of the short “u” sound: thump, sum, stung, jump, rust, done, come, some, love, dove.
I encouraged him: “Everett, try to put more than one spelling word in a sentence. Or write four sentences. Don’t just do the Bare Minimum.” It’s what I want from my students, too, of course. Excellence. Brilliance, if one can muster it. Trying Hard.
Everett didn’t want to.
His sentences were as follows:
“The rabbit thumped its foot on the ground.”
“In the movie Cars, Mater is rusty.”
“The bee stung me.”
These were Very Good sentences, and I told him so.
“But Everett,” I said, “write another one. Just one more. Don’t just do the Bare Minimum,” I said.
So he did, and the sentence made his feelings Very Clear: “I am all done.”
